


You Don't Remember Me

by lucymonster



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Backstory, Guilt, M/M, Moral Dilemmas, Non-Linear Narrative, Stormtrooper Culture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:26:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21655213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucymonster/pseuds/lucymonster
Summary: ...but I remember you.After the battle of Crait, another stormtrooper defects to the Resistance and reconnects with Finn.
Relationships: Finn/926
Comments: 14
Kudos: 28
Collections: Star Wars Rare Pairs Exchange 2019





	You Don't Remember Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [spookykingdomstarlight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spookykingdomstarlight/gifts).



**Batch Eight Induct Camp**

**26 ABY**

People here don’t communicate with each other. That’s their issue. Day one of induct camp should have been a warning: the staff sergeant gave incoming Batch Eight a rousing welcome speech about the importance of camaraderie, and then the barracks chief hosed them down not five minutes later with a stern warning that they weren’t here to make friends and that their only loyalty was to the First Order. 

Course, they don’t pay 926 to do the thinking. But he’s the kind of guy to throw in work for free, so when the barracks chief first started talking, he went ahead and thought it anyway: those right there were some mixed messages. Things could have been clearer if those two guys had gotten together pre-intake and run their talking points past each other.

Today, as it’s shaping up, looks like another day for free work. 926’s cadet squad have spent most of the morning dismantling the turrets they erected yesterday, which Lance Corporal Wyllan thought they could use for the day’s long-range firing drills but which it turns out the full corporal in charge of a different cadet squad wanted his guys to erect instead. Now the turret supports are mostly packed away ready to be re-erected by the correct cadet squad, and everyone’s standing at attention watching Sergeant Major Blue bawl out Lance Corporal Wyllan for not having the turrets erected already so the whole platoon can use them for a different drill she wants to run.

He’s thinking some thoughts, alright. 

‘This is karked,’ mutters Cadet 994 beside him, shifting to get comfortable while Wyllan’s too distracted to mark him up for it. 

‘Shh,’ hisses Cadet 960. But 926 is on 994’s side. They’re meant to be training to bring order to the galaxy, and the folks in charge act like they couldn’t bring order to a damn keedee raffle.

960 is probably mostly worried about the rival squad who are hanging around watching as Wyllan takes heat for the trouble their own corporal caused. They haven’t been called up yet and so don’t officially have to stand at attention, but they’re all ramrod-straight anyway – creche troopers, 926 would put money on it. Kids who got recruited so young that they were weaned in one of the First Order’s special compounds and never got dirtied by the world outside. Creche troopers are always hard-assed about rules. They’re the type to tattle if you lift your feet a mil too low while marching in formation. 

But as 926 keeps an eye on them, he sees one of the most ramrod-straight ones – FN-2187, according to the ID broadcast on the helmet display – inch two fingers inside his utility pouch like he’s about to pull a live grenade. What he hooks out instead is a plasti-foil packet 926 recognises immediately as one of the rolls of hard sweets that come in some of the better nutripacks. (‘They’re your airlock sweets,’ Wyllan explained to the squad when he was showing them how to break down their day’s rations. ‘Because if anyone asks you to share yours, you tell ‘em to go jump out an airlock.’)

Eating outside rec hours is a major no-no. 926 could get him written up for having that packet, rub away some of that sheen those creche troopers have in the eyes of the higher-ups. FN-2187: he knows that serial number. It’s always right above his on the target practice leaderboards, and damned but 926 can’t catch up no matter how hard he tries. If FN-2187 got written up, he might have to spend some time on penal assignment, and 926 could nab top spot while his rival was out.

Unaware of his looming downfall, FN-2187 breaks open the plasti-foil and pops an airlock sweet in his mouth. Then, as 926 watches, he starts sneaking them out to his squadmates.

Maybe he ain't heard what the sweets are called. Maybe he hasn't realised that all the talk about camaraderie is just that – talk. But he shares the whole packet, slipping one into the palm of each squadmate until there’s nothing left for him except crinkled plasti-foil and the lump of the single sweet tucked inside his cheek. 

926 keeps his mouth shut after all. Part of him knows he’s doing wrong, at least according to folks like the barracks chief and Sergeant Major Blue. They’d say upholding the First Order’s rules is his highest duty. (Wyllan wouldn't hold him to the airlock thing, he's pretty sure – that part's a joke. Probably. Things are so karked round here it's sometimes hard to tell what's a joke and what's not.) Another part of him feels ashamed he thought of tattling in the first place, when it sure as hell had nothing to do with his sense of duty. Top spot on the target practice leaderboards? 926 deserves top spot in a batch-wide slimeball pageant.

Maybe he’s got a chip on his shoulderplate because the creche troopers make it look so easy with their special breeding. 926 enlisted because his aunt couldn’t afford to feed him at home and so his uncle told him it was time to make his own way in the world. The recruiters gave him some remedial classes and a few sessions in the reprogramming facility that made his old life seem distant and fuzzy. Then he came here to induct camp. He’s been playing catch-up ever since.

He’d have liked it if he thought to bring along a pack of his own airlock sweets. He’d have liked it even better if FN-2187 had shared with _him._

It’s the start of a crush. But 926 doesn’t realise that till later on, when he’s staring at the top of his bunk and finds he can’t get to sleep because he’s too busy thinking about the rival trooper with the unbeatable target practice score who cares enough to share with his squadmates and ain’t even scared of getting caught.

* * *

**Hidden Resistance base**

**35 ABY**

They call him Finn now, not FN-2187, but he still has that creche trooper stiffness that makes him look more like a squad leader’s pet than a Resistance fighter. His badass leather jacket sits on him like regulation armour. It’s a touchy subject, probably, so 926 doesn’t say it aloud.

What he does say aloud is that Finn’s ass looks better in his rebel denim than it ever did in betaplast. Turns out that’s also a touchy subject, going by how flustered Finn gets and how he doesn’t meet 926’s eye for the next half hour. That’s another thing about kids from the creche: no one ever gives them the sex talk. 926 knows Finn doesn’t mind his advances, because he keeps on coming back for more and keeps putting himself in positions where 926 can easily reach out and swat that gorgeous ass. But it’s slow going, trying to get him to open up to anything else. It could be a long while before 926 gets to do more than swat.

He should really just learn to be grateful for what he has. But he can’t. He’s too greedy.

‘We still need to get you a name,’ Finn says later, when they’re talking again. ‘I’m no good at thinking that kind of stuff up, but my buddy Poe–’ 

‘I ain’t too fussed,’ says 926. ‘I chose to become a serial number when I enlisted. I don’t know that I’ve earned a real name yet.’

‘Everyone deserves a real name,’ says Finn. His skin doesn’t show pink, but 926 can tell he's flushing from the set of his mouth and the downturned flicker of his eyes. ‘And what you did was brave. Trust me, I know how hard it is to walk away from everything you’ve ever known.’

926 had his bacta wraps taken off last week, but he’s sore from the burns he got escaping the wreckage of the _Supremacy._ As far as he’s concerned, floating off unnoticed in a life pod while his squad were busy dying of smoke inhalation hardly counts as an act of courage. He came to the Resistance because he knew his old Batch Eight rival would take him in, no questions asked. But he waited till they were out of range of the First Order’s cannons before joining up. He didn’t exactly come charging headlong into the fight.

He never did manage to beat FN-2187 at target practice. Now, he can’t beat Finn at defecting. Figures.

‘You and I are different,’ he says firmly. ‘You were always breaking the rules to do what you thought was right. You got out of the mess the moment you could. Me, I was happy just going along. I liked being a stormtrooper. I’m in no rush to get rid of my history, even if I ditched my armour.’

Truth is, 926 tries to act breezy, but it’s hard to be around Finn without choking on shame. Deep down, he knows he’s never stopped being the kid cadet who got jealous over sweets. The stakes are bigger now, and his feelings when he looks at Finn have grown from adolescent crush into something far more complex, but basically it’s the same old story. He hasn’t told Finn what happened in the lead-up to his decision to defect, and he hasn’t told him how one time all those years ago he nearly turned him in to their superiors for snacking. Would Finn still want to share his sweet new life if he knew?

Of course he would. It’s who he is. And for accepting so much undeserved kindness, 926 is still in the running for that slimeball pageant.

‘I dunno,’ says Finn. ‘It just feels weird to keep calling you by a number. Brings back old memories, you know? But I don’t mean … I’m not trying to make it about me, or anything. I’m just saying.’

‘There’s lots of other things you could call me.’ Breezy again. ‘Honeybunch. Sweet cheeks. Boyfriend material.’

There’s another one of those embarrassed flushes 926 has taught himself to read. ‘Boyfriend material?’

‘Just a suggestion. You don’t have to go with it.’

‘No, I … I’m okay with that. I mean. I kind of like it.’ Finn swallows. ‘Suits you.’

By all rights, 926’s first reaction should be butterflies in his stomach. Joy. Some kinda sappy romance feeling. Instead, despite having wanted this for basically as long as he can remember, he’s overwhelmed with relief at having successfully changed the subject.

Oh, yeah. He’ll be wearing that slimeball ribbon any day now.

* * *

**_Mega-_ class Star Destroyer Supremacy**

**34 ABY**

The executioner armour has matte black carbon finish on the shoulders and helmet. 926 has always admired those suits, not only for their elegant design but also for what they represent: the troopers chosen to occupy that rotating role have earned the absolute trust of their superiors. Everyone knows they’re ready to do what’s asked without hesitation.

When 926 gets his assignment, it’s the proudest moment of his life. Some rebel scum have been apprehended. There’s a public execution scheduled in the launch bay, and Captain Phasma wants everyone there to watch. 926 will swing that coveted laser ax in front of every single trooper assigned to the Supreme Leader’s capital ship. 

They won’t know it’s him, of course. The executioner role rotates for a reason. 926 will be anonymous, but he’ll know it, and from today on he will hold his head high.

With his new jaunty angle of vision, it’s not until he’s extending his ax’s emitter claws that 926 actually looks at his intended victim and realises who he is.

That’s FN-2187 on the ground at Captain Phasma’s feet.

FN-2187, the guy who 926 crushed on all through induct camp and still thought about for months after they graduated and parted ways. FN-2187 who he ran into in the elevator just earlier today, wearing the uniform of an enlisted officer and acting like he was meant to be there. FN-2187, a rebel? A defector?

 _Traitor,_ he hears the assembled ranks whisper. Their righteous rage expands to fill the hangar, but all 926 can feel is jealousy. FN-2187 isn’t the first stormtrooper to realise this place is full of shit. 926 knew it way back at induct camp. He just never thought to leave, and apparently FN-2187 got there ahead of him just like he always got ahead at target practice.

The ship blows up before he has to act on the choice he’s made about whether to swing the ax. In the flaming aftermath, 926 feels shame and remorse like nothing he’s ever felt in his life. He gets the hell out of there. Hijacks a life pod. Dumps his armour into the vacuum so no one will ever know it was his face behind that distinctive black stripe.

But he knows.

He knows, in the decisive moment, his first instinct wasn’t to defect.

And there’s no chucking that out into the vacuum. He’ll have to wear it for the rest of his life.


End file.
